After All That
by Sheryl Nantus
Summary: After the Grand Prix there's more than just milk that needs to be cleaned up…


Speed Racer

Speed Racer

Title: After All That…

Rating: K (suitable for everyone!)

Synopsis: After the Grand Prix there's more than just milk that needs to be cleaned up…

Disclaimer: Oh, like you THINK they're mine? Only great love and respect here…

After All That

By Sheryl Nantus

He walked into the garage, one hand holding an empty milk bottle. Grabbing a stool from one of the worktables Speed sat down, facing the battered Mach 6.

It had taken over ten people to push the weary beast into the trailer; Sparky yelling at the fan girls who threatened to strip the car of anything that could be removed as a souvenir and Pops snarling at the inevitable spies who were dying to see what was under the hood.

The once-pristine white paint was marred and scratched; stripped away in places to show the bare metal underneath. Part of the nose was bent and warped from the abrupt landing that had won the Grand Prix; the burnt chassis still smelling of shredded rubber and oil. He could hear something dripping under the chassis and he was afraid to actually pop the hood and see the damage.

"She'll have to be stripped down and put together from scratch." Pops appeared from behind, wiping his hands with a cloth. "Your mother just got Spritle to bed. Don't think he's going to sleep but at least he's out of the way."

Speed nodded, still staring at the scarred paint. "Well, he was pretty excited. Trixie caught him trying to steal a glass of champagne at least twice."

"Not to mention getting sick on all those cakes and candies. I'll hand it to those fellows; they know how to put out a spread for a victory party." The elder Racer stood beside him. The two men stood in silence for a few minutes, and then Pops spoke. "How did you know to put her in fifth?"

The Grand Prix Champion's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "I listened to her. I listened to her and she told me what she needed to get going again." He tilted his head to one side, a sheepish grin on his face. "Guess that sounds sort of crazy…"

Pops shook his head. "Not to me." Stepping forward he began to rub at one of the burn marks on the front of the Mach 6. "Cars like this run on more than just an engine and gears, Speed. They run on love." The smear disappeared, revealing a horrible gouge in the paint. "Anyone can drive a car. Taking one of these out and making it do what you do means there's more than just skill." He patted the damaged metal. "If you love them enough they'll do anything for you."

The young man nodded, a serious look on his face. "They sure do, Pops. They sure do." Sliding off the stool he strode over to the workbench, placing the milk bottle down. "Might as well get started." Shimmying out of his leather jacket he picked up a rag and turned back towards the car.

Turning around his father plucked the cloth from his fingers; a weary look on his face. "Not right now. You're too wired and overtired and I wouldn't trust you to not burn your fingers off by accident." He jerked a thumb back towards the living room. "Why don't you go sit down with Trixie and rest for a bit. Your mom's making pancakes and Sparky's taken the phone off the hook." The older man smiled. "Just go have some breakfast and we'll start after that." A low chuckle rumbled up from the former wrestler's belly. "We've got a lot more than thirty-two hours this time."

"Okay." Speed walked back to the workbench and picked up the bottle. Moving to stand in front of the battered race car he carefully placed it on the hood; finding an unmarred patch of white. "She deserves this as much as I do. If not more."

Pops put his arm around the young driver, smiling widely. "That she does, kid. That she does. Now come help your old man deal with these pancakes." He glanced at the Mach 6. "Then we'll start all over again."

Speed stared at him, a shocked look on his face. "All over again?"

"Yep." The elder Racer smiled. "What, you think winning one race means you retire? Not by a long shot, kid."

The young man knelt down on one knee, staring at the marred surface of the car. "Cool." He whispered to the charred and warped metal. "Cool…" One hand ran over the smooth surface, what little there was of it. His face split into a wide smile as he stood back up, all weariness gone from his features.

"Let's go eat!"


End file.
